


when the sunset shifts.

by redhoods



Series: fictober 2019. [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, their fathers are there too but fuck them, yeah bitch i done it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: He looks around the room and everyone seems grim and stone faced, but no one seems surprised. His swallow seems loud as he kneels and digs through the basket. It’s all Sylvain’s things, he recognizes all of it, the coat, the blankets from Sylvain’s bed. “Where’s Sylvain?” He finds himself croaking out, even as he picks up the coat, shoves his arms into it.Sylvain had been wearing it yesterday as they’d stomped through the snow outside.It’s loose around his shoulders, even with all the other layers he’s got on, but he does the buttons with trembling fingers.Still, no one answers him.





	when the sunset shifts.

**Author's Note:**

> fictober day whatever the fuck day it is - glowing eyes. listen... i watched every episode of teen wolf.
> 
> this is gonna be a whole damn series, this is like a fraction of what i wanted to include but i had to stop myself somewhere.
> 
> title is from wolf like me by tv on the radio.
> 
> OH... and felix hugo fraldarius is trans. peace.

IMPERIAL YEAR 1178  
PEGASUS MOON  
GAUTIER

Felix isn’t quite asleep when the door to his guest chambers swings open, smacking against the stone wall. He lurches upright, reaching for a blade that isn’t there. It’s cold, so cold, especially out of the blankets and he can see his breath in the air, even indoors, “What’s going on?”

It’s his father, hair a mess of tangles, panting as he rushes to the bed, practically starts hauling Felix out of it, “Get dressed! Hurry!” He’s frantic with it, digs in Felix’s travel trunk, starts shoving his warmest clothes into his arms, “Now, Felix!”

He hasn’t seen his father like this. Even after... even after.

And he doesn’t have the energy to fight, “Where are we going?” He asks as he shoves out of his sleep clothes, starts pulling on layers. His father is supposed to be leaving in two days, leaving Felix here in the still cold of Gautier with only Sylvain for company. No one will tell him anything and even Sylvain has been rare to crack a smile or a joke.

There’s something everyone knows but him and its been digging under his skin for the three days they’ve been here.

His father grabs his bicep as soon as he’s dressed, his boots mostly laced, and starts pulling him through the halls, “You are going outside,” he says, like that explains anything.

“I’m what now?” He doesn’t stand a chance at trying to stop his father, he’s still not strong enough, “It’s freezing out!”

A handful of people are waiting in the entrance hall and the front doors of the manor are open, gusts of snow drifting in. Every fireplace is lit and everyone is bundled in furs. The Margrave is stone faced, looking out the doors, but he turns when he hears them approaching, glancing at Felix. His gaze is critical and Felix lifts his jaw at him.

The Margrave actually nods at him.

He nearly trips over his own feet, probably would have if his father hadn’t been hauling him along.

They stop some few feet from the Margrave, who snaps his fingers.

A servant approaches with a basket, an older woman who offers Felix a smile as she brings it over. He recognizes her, from he and Sylvain’s numerous childhood scrapes. She places the basket at his feet, then backs away immediately.

“What’s this?” He asks, before he can stop himself.

“It’s freezing out,” his father echoes, also stepping away now.

Actually, everyone is giving him a wide berth, he notes distantly.

The Margrave waves at the basket, “There’s a coat and blankets, take them.”

No one is answering, but Felix has heard that tone before and it sets his teeth on edge.

A howl echoes through the rooms then, the flames flickering in the hearths. The Margrave’s jaw actually grinds and his eyes get tight around the edges. Felix watches with a cold sinking dread as his father steps closer, touches the Margrave’s arm.

“Now, Felix,” his father says again.

He looks around the room and everyone seems grim and stone faced, but no one seems surprised. His swallow seems loud as he kneels and digs through the basket. It’s all Sylvain’s things, he recognizes all of it, the coat, the blankets from Sylvain’s bed. “Where’s Sylvain?” He finds himself croaking out, even as he picks up the coat, shoves his arms into it.

Sylvain had been wearing it yesterday as they’d stomped through the snow outside.

It’s loose around his shoulders, even with all the other layers he’s got on, but he does the buttons with trembling fingers.

Still, no one answers him.

He flings a blanket around his shoulders, bundles another in his arms, then straightens again, meeting his father’s gaze now, head on, jaw tight.

His father nods at him and comes close, but doesn’t touch him, gesturing towards the open doors, “I know this makes no sense to you,” he even pauses for Felix to snort, “but it will in the morning, I promise.” And strangely, Felix believes him about this. “Walk towards the treeline,” he says when the stop at the doorway.

“The treeline,” Felix deadpans, hollow.

“Yes,” his father confirms, still maintaining a careful distance.

Felix takes a step out and then two, his boots crunching into the snow.

“And Felix?” His father is still there and the Margrave is only a few steps behind him now, jaw clenched again, “Whatever you do? Don’t run.”

Then the doors close.

Right.

“Don’t run,” Felix micmics at the door and flips the bird at the wood.

The wind whips around him and he feels it even through his layers as he hunches his shoulders, trying to burrow into the blanket and coat. It all smells like Sylvain, deep and earthy and that punch of citrus that comes from his stupid, expensive bergamot tea.

Another howl rises from the trees and the shiver that runs through Felix has nothing to do with the cold this time.

He starts walking, trudging through the snow. The layer of fresh powder is deeper than he expects and his boots sink almost a foot deep before he hits hard packed snow. The treeline is yards away and Felix has spent a decent amount of time playing in these yards, playing in that forest, but now it’s creepy.

The light from the full moon isn’t helping, casting strange craggy shadows from all the barren trees. Everything’s got a strange blue glow to it and he swallows thickly, slowing as he gets closer.

He should have brought a lantern, a dagger, something.

Cold is seeping in all the way to his skin and his teeth are chattering by the time he reaches the treeline. And he waffles there, unsure of what to do now.

“Very helpful advice,” he grouses, pacing down the parallel to the trees, brushing the tips of his gloved fingers along the bark. He glances back to the manor, but the dark and the snow are making it hard to see any details, so he turns and trudges deeper into the trees.

It’s still and quiet in the forest, even the wind seems to have given up the further he ventures.

The next howl is closer, much closer.

His hands are shaking and he finds a large tree, presses his back to it, breathes as quietly through his nose as he can.

He hears it then, the crunching of snow, the snapping of branches, and there’s no mistaking that whatever it is, it’s _large_ and coming his way.

Don’t.

Run.

Flames, what the fuck is going on?

Felix exhales, curls his fingers into the bark of the tree behind him and a shadow comes closer, hulking and panting. It moves into a patch of moonlight, illuminating it properly, and somehow it’s only more terrifying.

It is a wolf.

A massive wolf.

A _red_ wolf.

He doesn’t even think red wolves are a thing, but Felix’s heart is thundering so hard that he can’t focus on anything but the way the beast has locked onto him, eyes glowing a dull sort of reddish brown, even in the pale blue moonlight.

It prowls in front of him, pacing through the snow with easy, slowly edging closer.

Felix feels like a lamb led to slaughter.

He also thinks he couldn’t run anyways, his legs locked in place with the rest of him, staring at the beast as it slowly closes the distance between them.

The wolf gets low, like it’s going to pounce, and his heart rate ratchets. It whines though, a low pitiful sound and edges closer on its belly. Felix realizes with something bordering on hysteria that it’s like the beast is trying not to scare him. Which is ridiculous, stupid, it’s a wolf.

Another whine pierces the air and the wolf’s ears pin flat to its skull as it stops with its snout a mere foot from Felix.

Even as low as the creature is, its still at level with his stomach.

He briefly pictures teeth rending through him and exhales shakily.

The wolf inhales and edges a little closer, barely moving two inches forward, like it’s waiting for something.

“What the fuck,” Felix deadpans and reaches his hand out, still trembling.

Again, the wolf stops, ears twitching, glowing eyes fixing on Felix’s hand, and then it lurches forward, barrels right into Felix, crushing him against the tree with its not inconsiderable weight. The snout shoves under his arm, burrowing into the blanket and coat against his ribs, and he can feel the mighty inhale.

The wolf whines again, a low sound and then sits.

Right there, at Felix’s feet.

“What the fuck,” Felix says again, pinned between a tree and a massive wolf.

His heart rate is slowing despite himself and the wolf is still snuffling against his side, like it’s trying to press in as close to him as it can get.

Hesitantly, Felix touches the wolf, pressing his palm against its massive head, and there’s a thump in the snow that he realizes is the wolf’s tail. He’s dreaming, he’s got to be dreaming, but he digs his fingers into red fur and the tail thumps again.

The wolf withdraws though, shuffling back in the snow, then drops fully to the ground on its belly, head on its legs in front of it, staring up at him with large baleful eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” Felix tells it as he takes the blanket he’s still holding in his arms and spreading it at the base of the tree, like he’s setting up for a fucking picnic or something. As soon as he sits, the wolf starts edging forward on its belly, seemingly unconcerned or unbothered by the snow. It comes close enough to rest its giant head in Felix’s lap.

He’s got no frame of reference for this, nothing to compare it to, but he bites the fingers of one of his gloves to yank it off, even though it’s still biting cold, and reaches out tentatively.

The wolf’s nose is cold and wet when it presses against his palm, butts against him like a cat would, and Felix rubs a hand up its snout and into the fur on its head, scratching through. A rumble rolls from the wolf’s chest, like a cat’s purr but massive, vibrating that Felix can feel through his body.

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” Felix asks the wolf.

Its ears press flat and it whines.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says, like the wolf can understand him, can actually respond.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, petting this giant wolf like a cat, before it suddenly snaps its head up, ears twitching like a hunting dog. The rumble changes to a growl and it pulls away from him, prowling at the edge of the blanket.

The wolf is protecting him, Felix realizes with incredulity, filing that away to freak out about later.

In the morning, if he survives.

The wolf snarls, a low sound that makes Felix jerk back against the tree.

After a few more minutes, that low rolling growl, before the wolf droops and slinks back to him, tail low, ears pressed down, like its worried that he’s going to shoo it off. He makes no move to do such and it comes all the way onto the blanket and curls up against his side as best something that large can, its giant head resting on his lap again.

Felix digs his stiff, cold fingers into the wolf’s scruff, and tips his head back against the trunk of the tree while his heart thunders away in his chest. His nose is cold and he’s glad he didn’t have a chance to pull his hair up, because it’s doing a semi decent job of keeping his ears from getting too cold as well.

The wolf is throwing off a ton of heat as well as it rumbles against his side, curling tighter against him until its practically squishing into his lap, though it seems torn between shoving its nose against Felix and also looking out at the trees around them.

Every so often, its ears flick and it lifts his head, a subvocal growl rumbling through them both, then resettles like nothing had happened.

Felix is hard pressed to believe there’s anything out there for it to even growl at aside from some deer, but it’s strangely comforting in a way that he’s not sure how to handle. He feels _safe_ here, this massive wolf curled against him, rumbling away like a house cat rather than a beast that could chomp through his throat with one snap of its teeth.

There are so many questions he has, but he can’t ask any of a wolf that can’t talk, so he swallows them back and scratches behind the wolf’s ears.

\-----

He must fall asleep, because when he’s next aware, there’s dull dawn light filtering through the trees and he can hear hounds barking, people calling through the forest.

And.

And Sylvain is there, curled against him, naked and sleeping and warm despite the snow surrounding them.

Felix shoves him off, right into the snow.

Sylvain jerks and starts, yelping loud as he scrambles out of the snow and right back into Felix’s lap, chanting, “Coldcoldcoldcoldcold,” as he tries to tug the blanket around Felix around himself as well. Then he goes still all over, realizing that Felix is the person he’s sitting on, “Felix,” he breathes out suddenly, eyes very wide.

“You,” Felix growls out, very low, because he can’t think of anything else aside from the fact that despite being naked in the snow, Sylvain still feels like a furnace in his lap and his hand is searing against Sylvain’s bare back.

Everything is slotting together and his toes are fucking freezing and so is his nose and he’s lost feeling in his legs.

“I am going to kill you,” Felix says then.

Sylvain laughs sheepishly and he’s _blushing_ now, “Okay,” he squeaks, “Can you wait til I’ve got clothes on or something?”

Felix snarls.

Sylvain laughs again and tucks against him, because it doesn’t matter how much Felix growls or snarls at him, Sylvain is still the only person that seems to be not at all afraid of him. His face presses into Felix’s neck and he inhales there, muffles a, “You smell nice.”

This is probably why Felix wasn’t given a weapon, he thinks, even as he wraps his arms and the blanket around Sylvain.

“They’re looking for us,” Sylvain adds, head cocking so his ear is towards the forest, “Probably worried I tried to tear you apart.”

Felix pinches his side, “I want answers.”

Sylvain hums, tucks against his throat again and Felix doesn’t think he imagines the kiss that gets pressed there, “Later, promise,” he says quietly. His stomach rumbles loudly between them, “I need food and a bath.”

Sighing loudly, like he’s put out, Felix slides his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, tries to formulate some insult or another, but that same rumbling from the wolf kicks up in Sylvain’s chest and he quiets instead. His mind is rolling, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened, how everyone kept this secret from him. It hurts, he thinks, to not know, to be missing such a large piece of the puzzle.

Flames, he’s missing three-fourths of the puzzle.

“Felix!” It’s his father that he hears now, close to them.

There’s a part of him that wants to stay stubbornly quiet, to sit here with Sylvain in his lap, rumbling away, but he’s freezing and he needs to think, so he tips his head back against the tree, “Over here!”

Sylvain goes still against him as the sounds of the hounds approach and the purr turns into a low growl.

Felix tugs his hair, “Easy,” he says low, then louder, “Take the dogs away!”

The sounds of the hounds fades again almost immediately and Sylvain quiets again, though he stays stock still, entire body locked up as footsteps become audible to Felix. He wonders if Sylvain is just sensitive now or if he’s always like this, senses keyed up to the extreme.

His father comes into sight, followed by the Margrave.

They both look surprised at the state of them and Felix bares his teeth at them both over Sylvain’s shoulder.

“Boys,” his father says and seems to know not to come closer, instead slinging a pack off his arm at them. It lands on the blanket and Felix leans forward, moving Sylvain with him as he grabs it and hauls it in.

The Margrave is looking between the two of them, gaze appraising before both of the older men turn and disappear into the trees again, though Felix can still make out the vague shape of them not far away.

He tips his head down, knocks his forehead off of Sylvain’s jaw, “Okay?”

Sylvain smothers a weird laugh, “You’re asking me that?” He asks, finally moving again, sliding off of Felix’s lap now, his fingers curling so tight into fists that his knuckles crack.

“You’re the one acting weird,” Felix points out and opens the pack, finds clothes for Sylvain in it, so he dumps them out on Sylvain’s lap. “Come on, put some clothes on, I’m freezing and I want to eat.” It makes Sylvain blink at him, startled maybe, before he nods and starts doing as he was told.

While he’s dressing, Felix uses the tree to push himself to standing, though his legs are pins and needles and he hisses as he rubs at his thighs, trying to chase the feeling away.

There’s no boots for Sylvain, just simple trousers and a tunic, and he stands in the snow like he doesn’t feel it. He seems to realize that Felix isn’t moving and the way his head tips as he looks at him is almost too much.

Then his nostrils flare and Felix bares his teeth at him.

Sylvain’s laugh is low, rich now, and he comes closer and turns, bearing down in the snow, “Come on, like when we were kids.”

They are kids, Felix thinks, then realize that that’s not true. Sylvain turned eighteen earlier this year, while Felix had been out west. He sighs and pushes off the tree, wobbles, but doesn’t give warning as he jumps onto Sylvain’s back.

It doesn’t matter, Sylvain barely moves under his weight, simply cups under his thighs and starts walking.

“Are you always this warm now?” Felix asks, draping his arms around Sylvain, loosely linking his fingers over his sternum. He digs his chin into Sylvain’s shoulder.

Sylvain hums, “Pretty much,” he answers quietly, still trudging through the snow like its nothing.

They’re deeper in the forest than Felix had realized and he sees the tracks he thinks must’ve been their fathers. He swallows and taps his fingers against Sylvain’s breastbone, thinking, “Can I ask other stuff now?”

“Like what?”

“Your senses,” Felix replies, tilting his head to try and watch Sylvain’s reaction, but he seems calm, relaxed even. “You heard them coming before I did,” he adds for clarification, because he doesn’t think he’s ready to touch the smell thing yet. His mind is still processing that bit.

Sylvain nods, “All the time.”

“Shit,” Felix breathes.

Sylvain laughs, “Shit,” he agrees.

They cross out of the treeline and their fathers are there, standing close and talking quietly and Felix wonders if Sylvain can make out what they’re saying, but his expression doesn’t change as they get closer. He also makes note that Sylvain makes no move to put him down and neither of their fathers comment as they turn, the four of them making for the manor in silence.

\-----

Felix doesn’t see Sylvain for hours once they’re inside.

He gets a bath and clean clothes, ends up bundled up in too many layers and doesn’t comment when he realizes some of Sylvain’s clothes have ended up with his, just pulls them on as well as he eats breakfast in the kitchens with only the cook for company.

The old woman, Gerie, he thinks her name is, finds him in the library later, where he’s curled up in a stuffed chair in front of the fireplace, staring at it and seeing nothing.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says as she sits in the other chair. She’s quiet for a while after that, then exhales mightily, “You’re not injured,” she points out and it’s not a question.

He lifts his gaze and she’s looking at him expectantly. “Should I be?” He asks, low, quiet and confused.

She laughs then, a hoarse, surprised sound, “I’ve always liked you, kid,” she tells him.

“Is it the moon?” He asks next, because he’s taking that as a ‘probably’ to his last question. Everyone had seemed surprised to see him and he’s not sure if they were expecting him to be dead or injured, he can’t tell.

She clicks her tongue, “Smart,” she stands again, her old bones creaking over the crackle of the fire. “It will get easier for him,” she adds, “as long as you’re around.”

He waits until she’s facing away from him, curling his fingers against the arms of the chair, “It’s the family, isn’t it? The blood?”

“Too smart,” she adds, not stopping.

\-----

When the cold seems to have finally been chased fully from his body, Felix tries to find Sylvain.

Tries.

Admittedly, Felix doesn’t know Gautier Manor that well, it wasn’t a place he spent a lot of time at as a child, for reasons he thinks are clearer now. (And also, Miklan, but thinking about him only raises even more questions.) But he knows the places Sylvain likes to haunt and finds him in none of them.

After half an hour, he begins to wonder if Sylvain is avoiding him.

After an hour, he’s certain Sylvain is avoiding him, though he’s yet to see a single peak of Sylvain.

He gets desperate.

The Margrave’s study is one of those places that Felix has only been in once or twice, mostly getting chastised for whatever shenanigans Sylvain had dragged him into on that particular day, but he holds his chin high as he walks in through the open door.

His father and the Margrave are sitting at a table, at opposite sides of a map of Fodlan, reports scattered around them. They both glance up when he enters.

“How do I find him?” He asks, rather than the million of other questions he’s got.

Sylvain said he was going to answer them and damn if Felix isn’t going to hold him to that at least.

They glance at each other, one of those stupid silent conversations that he’s seen his father have with the King before. He didn’t think his father and the Margrave actually got along, but he’s realizing there’s a lot he doesn’t know anymore.

“He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” his father is the one to speak.

Felix curls a lip at him, “Bullshit.”

“Felix,” that tone, reproachful and chastising, like Felix is ten and they didn’t send him out to possibly get his throat torn out by his best friend last night.

“How do I find him?” He asks again.

The Margrave is evaluating him again and Felix is strangely glad that Sylvain takes after his mother more than his father, because he can’t reconcile this man’s cold, flinty gaze with Sylvain’s warm, friendly one. “He can hear you,” the Margrave finally says, “he’s never going to be far from you. He won’t want to be.”

It’s... sort of an answer.

Felix jerks his head in a nod and turns on his heel without another word.

He waits until he’s far from the study, back to the residential wing, straining his ears to hear if Sylvain is near him. It’s futile though, he doesn’t hear anything, but he goes to Sylvain’s room. 

It’s cleaner than he expects it to be. There’s scattered pieces of armor on the floor to one side, but laying on a cloth with a tub of polish and cleaning cloths. A few lances are leaning against the wall nearby.

Making a circle of the room, he pauses at the desk, but the only thing there is some pieces about Garreg Mach that make Felix curl his lip. He doesn’t want to go to the Officers’ Academy, but it seems like he’s got no choice in that, no more than he’s had in anything else in the last several years of his life.

He continues, pauses to look out the window that looks out at the forest, sighs quietly as he goes to the bed.

There are different blankets, likely since the ones from last night are being washed, but Felix recognizes one, now that he’s paying attention. 

It’s his, from home, from Fraldarius.

He snorts softly, “Creep,” he says, to the empty air, hoping Sylvain hears him.

Then, because he can, because Sylvain’s being weird, because he’s tired, he flops onto the bed, kicking his boots onto the floor and digs his way under the covers. It’s half familiar, because he used to do this when they were children.

Not this bed in particular, but the one that was Sylvain’s in Fraldarius, the one Sylvain used everytime he stayed. When it stormed at night or whenever he had a bad dream, he’d climb into the bed with Sylvain and hide under the covers, tucked against him, trusting Sylvain to keep him safe.

Sylvain isn’t in the bed, but he pulls the covers over his head anyways, drowning himself in that rich earthy scent with the hints of citrus.

And he dozes for a bit, he must, because the next thing he knows, his face is uncovered and Sylvain is half on the bed, frozen in place when Felix blinks his eyes open. They stare at each other for several long seconds before Sylvain starts to pull away.

Felix lunges after him, gets a hand in Sylvain’s shirt, but misjudges the bed.

They both go off the edge, Sylvain hitting the floor first and Felix lands on top of him.

“Ow,” Sylvain gripes and Felix should move, should check Sylvain’s skull but he’s seen Sylvain take worse tumbles and he’s not taking a chance, plants himself on Sylvain’s stomach, braces his hands on his shoulders.

“You,” he growls.

Sylvain blinks at him, turning his head back and forth against the stone floor, and at a particular angle, his eyes flash, reflecting firelight back at him. 

It startles him so much that Felix rears back, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

Hands land on his hips, so warm through the layers of his clothes, and Sylvain stills, nostrils flaring again, “You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, voice a low rumble that hooks in Felix’s belly. Then one of Sylvain’s hands slides up, pinching the fabric of the tunic Felix has on between his fingers, “This is mine.”

Felix blinks at him, then shoves at his chest, “Stop being a creep,” he spits out, because he feels out of his depth, “and stop avoiding me.”

Sylvain laughs and Felix feels it in his hands, “Sorry, Fe, I was trying to give you space.”

“By following me around like a creepy shadow?” He asks.

Sylvain shrugs.

Felix shoves at his chest again, shoves himself off, then climbs back into the bed, because the fire is burning too low in here and Sylvain might have been warm under him but he’s... that’s not... he gets under the blankets again.

He counts to forty-four before Sylvain’s head appears over the side of the bed, his hair a mess, eyes luminous, “Are you going to shove me out if I join you?”

Turning his face into a pillow, Felix sighs, mumbles a, “No,” into it.

The bed dips and there’s a rustle of blankets, cold air rushing in as Sylvain lifts them up to climb under as well. Then his legs bump Felix’s and a warm hand finds his side, “Fe.”

Felix sighs again, louder this time, for show, turning his cheek back against the pillow to peer at Sylvain, “I’m mad at you.”

Sylvain’s eyes crinkle when he smiles now and his hand shifts, sliding around Felix’s back and then he pulls suddenly, hauling Felix right to him. “When aren’t you?” He asks, voice stirring Felix’s still loose hair up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Felix asks and pretends it doesn’t come out petulant.

It’s quiet in the room, so Felix tucks in under Sylvain’s chin, wraps his own arm over Sylvain so they’re pressed together, listens to the steady, strong thud of Sylvain’s heart.

Eventually, Sylvain exhales, body loosening like he’s releasing some great tension, “I couldn’t exactly put it in a letter. You’d tell me I wasn’t funny and to stop wasting paper,” his voice is low again, a rumble that Felix can feel where their chests are touching.

“When did it start?”

“You really want to do this now?” Sylvain’s lips are against his hair, he can feel it, and one of his palms is sliding up Felix’s back, into his hair. It’s nice, comforting and familiar, but it’s not enough to distract him.

Felix sighs, tipping them until he can sprawl across Sylvain, cheek on his chest, Sylvain’s hand still in his hair, “Before you chicken out on me.”

Sylvain laughs, “Charmer,” he says, fingers gentling when he finds a tangle. He works it out before he starts talking again, “It started the full moon after my birthday, apparently the big eighteen is it,” his voice has gone flat, like Sylvain rarely ever is.

It rankles, sets him off kilter, but he stays quiet.

“The Gautier Curse,” he practically spits the words out, “A gift from our friends to the north.”

Felix exhales quietly against his chest, presses his hand to Sylvain’s flank, then starts petting him there, gentle sweeps of his hand.

“There’s no avoiding it either, Gautier blood carries the curse,” Sylvain continues.

It strikes Felix then, sudden and hard, and he must lock up, must stiffen or something, because Sylvain makes a low sound, subvocal in his chest, cupping his skull.

“Yeah,” Sylvain tells him, “they knew and they chose to try again.”

Felix turns his head, presses his forehead against Sylvain’s sternum, quietly shaking as rage wells up fast and fierce within him. On one hand, it’s awful, terrible. On the other, he’s selfish. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have Sylvain.

Sylvain shifts under him and he’s not expecting the kiss to the top of his head, but he sinks back flat against Sylvain’s chest again. That rumble, that purr, starts under his ear, and it rumbles louder as Sylvain speaks again, “Miklan was feral whenever he turned.”

Goddess.

More and more makes sense.

“They tried locking him up once and he broke out like it was nothing,” Sylvain trembles, just once, a fine quake, “He came after me the first few times, so they started sending me away.”

Felix remembers now, the times Sylvain came to stay with them every month or when they’d be visiting Fhirdiad and Sylvain would come there for a few days and then right back home, no matter how much he protested it.

It’d always seemed like so much traveling to Felix, but it makes sense now.

“He had nothing to tether him to his humanity.”

They both scoff at the same time and Felix lifts his head to stare at Sylvain, who’s staring right back, and they both dissolve into snickering, curling against each other. It’s terrible to laugh at, knowing some of the things Miklan tried to do to Sylvain when he was younger, before the Margrave sent Miklan away.

And it hits Felix then, “Wait, he’s just out there like this?”

Sylvain nods and whatever amusement had existed evaporates.

Felix hisses through his teeth, resting his cheek back on Sylvain’s chest and something else occurs to his overworked brain, “You said he didn’t have a tether.”

“Right,” Sylvain’s hand stops, broad and warm against his spine.

“You do though.”

“Right again.”

“Me,” Felix says, very quiet.

Sylvain hums.

Minutes pass in silence.

“Fe, please say something,” Sylvain says quietly beneath him, hand still warm on his back, chest still quietly rumbling along.

All of his other questions seem to have escaped him, vanished from his mind like smoke between his fingers, and he exhales loudly. He shoves up from Sylvain’s chest, even though it tips him so he’s straddling Sylvain’s middle again, his palms flat against Sylvain’s ribs.

Sylvain is staring at him, eyes bright, and he looks nervous.

Felix swallows, too many things clogging in his throat, “I don’t want to be,” he says, very quietly, clapping his hand over Sylvain’s mouth before he can say something stupid. “What if something happens to me? What if I can’t be there?” He’s shaking he realizes, “Will you hurt people? Will you go feral too?”

It takes Sylvain raising an eyebrow for him to realize he’s not going to get an answer until he lifts his hand, so he does so, face burning hot. “Relax, breathe,” Sylvain tells him, “it’s not an ultimatum thing, Felix.”

He waits.

“Having you here? That was the best its ever been,” Sylvain explains, hands on Felix’s hips, thumbs moving in slow circles. “The first time was awful, everything was too much. The second time, I ran the entire night towards Fraldarius. The old man can’t keep up with me even when he—” Sylavin shrugs, “—so he had to send some men and horses in the morning. He contacted your father, who sent some of your things, blankets and clothes.”

Felix squints at him, “How much of my stuff have you been creeping on, Sylvain?”

Sylvain’s face turns an interesting ruddy red and he tellingly doesn’t answer, “Apparently I was pathetic about it too,” he carries on like he hadn’t been interrupted, “Took whatever I had and dragged it into the forest and howled all night.”

“Who’s the crybaby now?” Felix crows, shoulders shaking as he tips to press his forehead to Sylvain’s chest, picturing the big red wolf from the previous night crying in a pile of his clothes.

Sylvain pinches his hip and he laughs harder.

When he calms down, he lifts back up and Sylvain is smiling at him.

It’s less strained now, the most relaxed he’s seen Sylvain the entire time he’s been in Gautier for this trip. He sighs quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me before? Or have my father bring me back sooner?” He has to know, “I would have come.”

“That’s why,” Sylvain says, squeezing his hips, “I knew you’d come and I knew how much you wanted to be out west, how important that was to you.”

“Sylvain,” he breathes out exasperated.

Sylvain rumbles another one of those laughs and reaches up, tucking some hair behind his ear, thumbs over his cheek, “Look, soon, we’ll both be at the academy and you won’t be able to get rid of me, so take the wins where you can get them.”

Felix turns his cheek against Sylvain’s palm, “Asshole.”

“This is the most we’ve talked in two years, Fe, don’t be mean now,” Sylvain says quietly.

It makes his chest clench and he hadn’t even thought about that, hadn’t thought about anything but last night, and he tries not to let it overwhelm him now, focusing on Sylvain under him, the hand on his cheek. Exhales shakily and rubs his thumbs over Sylvain’s ribs, “I’m always mean.”

Sylvain hums, “A little.”

“You like it,” he accuses quietly.

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees, just as quiet.

Felix tips forward again, tucking his face against Sylvain’s throat, “I’ll do it, you know,” he says there, burying his words into Sylvain’s skin as Sylvain’s arms wrap around him, “I’ll be there when you need me.”

He gets lifted when Sylvain inhales, lowered when he exhales, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about these idiots on twitter @vowofenmity


End file.
